Al headed to the conference early the next morning, and I forgot to ask him to corner the Cingular president and ask why his plan didn't include free weekends.
Headed downstairs with a full itinerary of attractions I wanted to hit that day and decided to stop at one of the little gelato cafes to get a coffee before trekking down to the Wynn casino. What the heck, pull out all the stops, calories be damned! I’ll have a medium Latte. Excuse me? How much? $5.60??? Are you kidding? No, I don’t want to charge it to my room. I’ll just give you all the cash in my wallet, and you throw in a stir-stick, how’s that? There’s not enough Splenda to steal in the world that will make up that transaction. But of course, I take five extra packets anyway. I don’t care if I have to carry them home on the plane; I’m getting my money worth here. Should have ordered a ghetto latte. Monsters. Their ‘medium’ is a ‘small’ anywhere civilized, and a gallon of milk is less than $3… If I wanted to throw money away, I would have hit the craps table. C’mon seven, Mama needs her caffeine…
I’m barely across the walkway to the Flamingo when two women from Europe ask me if there’s anyplace to have breakfast that isn’t so costly. I show them my $5 Latte, and say no. I know how they feel. The Flamingo advertised a nature walk by their pool that was free, so I pop in to check it out. Not much, but then, it was free… They have some nice black swans, an Ibis, Crested crane, a variety of ducks, some turtles and of course a few flamingos. Took pictures and decided to take a look-see in the gift shop. Nice T-Shirts and such, decide I’ll be back.
Continue on to the Wynn and enter through the shops. I haven’t figured out how these swanky shops are staying open. First off, the prices are far beyond outrageous. There aren’t that many gangsters with girlfriends who can afford to shop there, and I don’t see any tourists buying anything this trip. In visits past, I would see these little Asian girls loaded down with designer bags of purchases. This year I see tons of foot traffic going past stores, but no buying. Channel, Gucci, Prada, Bebe, the list goes on. One or two bored employees stare out at the walkway as if they can will a shopper to enter. Some are dusting or windexing the glass cases, but in most cases they are leaning against their gilded counters looking very, very bored. Now what is this costing the parent company? It’s the same upscale shops over and over in each shopping area. Caesar’s, Wynn, Venetian and I presume the Aladdin all have basically the same stuff. How can a store staff and light five little outlets across town? What’s the point? Do they really sell one $1800 jacket a month at each storefront and just squeak by?
I dropped into one famous store, but right now I can’t recall the name. I do recall the $600 skirt I looked at, and the eager saleswoman who showed it to me. Now I’m sure she could smell “Kohl’s” on me from forty paces, but on the off chance that I had just hit a jackpot, she was rather pleasant. Nice stuff, but not happening. If anyone local is buying this stuff, I need to hit their yard sale. Excuse me, Estate Sale.
I ask where the Ferrari dealership is, and am given directions by a doorman. That is a nice feature of Vegas. People whose entire job it is to direct you to various points in their hotel. Not like the abrasive greeter at Evil-Mart who yanks a cart out and jabs me with it menacingly, pressing me to Have A Nice Day.
Once there, I am dismayed that after forking over my $10, I am told there are no photographs. What? Can I turn off my flash? What’s the big deal? There are a few cars on the floor and I am directed to a flight of stairs to the basement. There lies the dealership garage, and I think it cool to see some Ferraris on lifts being serviced. I don’t see any mechanics, however. Hmmm.
At the bottom of the steps I see about a dozen Ferraris, all for sale, as this is a working dealership. Of course, you can’t cross the velvet ropes and really look at any of them. I’m starting to feel about as ripped off as a large latte buyer. There is a young woman on hand to answer questions. Of course, she doesn’t know everything, and has never driven one. I find this out because I decide that I’m going to get my $10 worth if I have to bug every person I see.
I start asking questions. Lots of questions. My goal is to have them pay me $10 to leave. If I would have thought of it, I would have asked what weight oil each takes. As it is, we discuss color options, engine specs and transmissions. I learn that there is an electric canvas top that covers the F430 at the push of a button. Cool.
A young guy and gal have a station at the end where you can have your picture taken in a Ferrari for $20. I point out I already paid $10 to look around, and if they would just turn their back a second, I’d take my own picture, thank you. Finally the girl appeals to my sense of reason. I can sit in the Ferrari, and not buy the picture after they take it. Sold.
Once ensconced in $200K of automobile, I start touching things, much to her alarm. Can’t touch anything but the wheel! Yeah, yeah. Why are there two temperature gauges? She doesn’t know. I’m just happy to learn that you get oil, temp (x2), battery, speedo and tach. I hate idiot lights. No gas gauge… must be a lighted display. The speedo goes well into the 200s and 60 mph is a tiny blip in the first 1/5 of the dial. Reluctantly I leave the car, and have no problem declining to buy the picture: she didn’t even get the entire car in the frame.
Upstairs I find actual salesmen and begin a new barrage of questions. I learn this is the only dealership in the United States for Ferrari/Maserati and they sell 25 cars a month. To buy a new Ferrari, there is a four year waiting list, and you must be a present Ferrari owner to get added to the list. Registered owner, which means you must buy one of their overpriced used showroom choices just to get on the list.
Spoke to a guy who claimed to have sold a Maserati to Eva Longoria, and Ferraris to John Lovitz (instilling me with hope that the seats move far enough forward for short people like myself), George Clooney and Wayan family members.
He said many came in without an appointment. Sports stars with money to burn would pay whatever was listed on the tag. He said there really wasn’t any negotiating, because demand outstripped supply, and they knew they could get whatever they asked. Which, for the one I wanted, a F430 with F1 transmission, was $435K.
We discussed the six-speed versus the F1 (paddles, no clutch) transmissions and he explained both oil and coolant temperature was displayed. They come with a 4 year warranty. Several color choices of leather interior. One even boasted easy payments of $3600 a month! After finding out there are no brochures, sales items, or anything of value that I could possibly get out the door with other than a free postcard (took 3) I finally leave. I’ll be back when I have money. And I’ll make them take $10 off! They so owe me.
Any excitement about Exiting Through the Gift Shop quickly evaporates as soon as I see the prices. Their mugs are $30! Things go up from there. T shirts are well over $40, and anything decent is at least $65. This is ridiculous. I see this older woman and her husband looking around, and she picks up the ugliest white leather jacket I have ever seen. I’m not quite sure what it had to do with Ferrari. Amid all the cool red and black prancing horse stuff is this white jacket with Asian-looking lettering and designs on it in purple. This thing is about $800 and she tries it on for a second, then walks to the cash register and buys it! If anyone knows the significance of this jacket, please share it with me. Everything seemed to be tied to racing, and I can only guess they were Ferrari owners and knew what it was. Strange. Finding nothing I could afford, I left for cheaper pastures.
Next: 39 cents down, four dollars to go
No comments:
Post a Comment